Page 63 of Claiming Xan
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RIVER
“I’m feeling peckish,”Xan announced.
I snickered, then eyed my Omega, stretched out on the couch like some sort of Egyptian prince—except one wearing nothing but a baggy hoodie and a pair of boxers with kissy lip-prints all over them.
“What are we, British?” I asked.
He huffed. “Oi, mate! I said we’re peckish, so we’re peckish,” he replied in the worst fake British accent I’d ever heard in my life, but it made me laugh anyway.
I shook my head. “And what is the baby hungry for today?”
Xan hummed and stroked his hands over his tummy, like rubbing the big jade Buddha statue at the Chinese Buffet.
“Mmm… Pork tenderloin, extra pickles and ketchup, and a side of fried cheese curds,” he decided. “It’ll go straight to my hips, but I don’t give a single fuck. Besides, I’m sure we’ll work it off later.”
He grinned wolfishly at me, and I laughed, a deep laugh. Damn. I really was falling for this silly Omega who tied my heartstrings in knots on a daily basis.
I stood, spreading my arms out on either side of me. “Okay, then. Where to?”
Xan hopped up and clasped his hands together with glee. “Bixby’s! It’s right on the square, in the heart of town. Everyone loves Bixby’s. It’s locally owned and operated by a couple from our pack, actually.”
He chattered away about the mated couple, Adam and Fletcher Rose, as we bundled up in our winter gear and went out and got in Xan’s Chevy. He stuck the key in the ignition and the engine purred to life despite the chill to the air.
“Unfortunately, Fletcher is barren and can’t conceive, so they decided to open a restaurant in Greymercy instead,” Xan explained.
I made a face. “Not quite a suitable replacement for a baby.”
Xan simply shrugged. “Everyone grieves differently. Their food is the bomb? So they’re doing something right.”
He parked on the square and the two of us went inside the small hole-in-the-wall restaurant—though restaurant was kind of stretching it. It was more of a diner with a homey touch.
Bixby’s boasted a bar up front, with padded leather barstools, and booths and tables clustered about on the main floor, which was two steps up.
The floors were a checkered black-and-white tile, but everything else was decorated in a soft sea-green. The walls were tiled as well, about halfway up, before it gave way to the strangest wallpaper—old newspaper clippings, hodge-podged together like an art project.
Behind swinging double doors was what I presumed was the kitchen, by the large “Staff Only” sign hanging above it, and all of the waitresses were wearing the same cute teal skirts and white blouses with a bit of frill in the front.
The sign when we first walked in said, “Please, Seat Yourself,” so we did. We chose a booth near a window andsettled in, shrugging out of our coats, since it was pretty warm in here.
Our waitress was a curvy Alpha shifter—a feline of some sort, by the scent of it. Instead of asking what we wanted to drink or what she could get started for us, she tossed her caramel-colored curls over her shoulder and looked at Xan with a big smile.
“When’re you due, sweets? You look about ready to pop!”
Xan puffed out his chest proudly. “Early March,” he said.
“You must be excited.”
“Very.”
She turned her golden cat-eyes on me, lofting a brow. “And what about you? Are you the proud Alpha?”
I stared at her a moment, then glanced at Xan to find him looking right at me. Once again, I felt that tugging on my soul.
“Yeah,” I murmured, my voice taking on a bit of a rumble.
“Congratulations.” She flashed a toothy grin. “We just found out my Omega is pregnant this past week. He’s over the moon. My parents? Not so much. He’s a dog. I’m a cat. You know how it goes, but love conquers all, am I right?” Pulling out her scratch-pad at last, she asked, “Now what can I get you?”
